


opening

by chasing_daybreak



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), gratuitious use of chess imagery, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28399890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasing_daybreak/pseuds/chasing_daybreak
Summary: Hubert is an enigma, a dagger hidden in a sleeve. Sylvain is an open book no one wants to read too closely.They spend a lot of time playing chess.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. the start of the clock

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sylvbert Secret Santa 2020.
> 
> Unfortunately, the prompts I was given led to me creating an entire elaborate plot in three acts, and this is only the opening. My apologies to my giftee, this is nowhere near finished but the culmination will be worth it.

Sylvain likes to think he is an observant person.

What happens: the Imperial royal carriage is the last to arrive at Garreg Mach. The Kingdom and the Alliance have already sent their future leaders to the Officers’ Academy as early as this morning, but apparently there was an unexpected bandit attack on the way from Enbarr that delayed the princess’ journey. Sylvain is curious, of course; he has heard Edelgard is an exceptional beauty, and if he isn’t here for his studies he is partly here for the women. The carriage stops right at the gate, where other students from all houses gather to greet new classmates and old friends alike. Everyone ceases their activities the moment the door opens, holding their breath for the long awaited appearance of the latest and only Hresvelg heir.

The one who comes out of the carriage first isn’t Edelgard, however. A tall, pale dark-haired man in Academy uniform steps down from it and graciously offers his hand upward. A moment later, a gloved hand takes his, and then comes Edelgard in all her glory, white hair fluttering in the Lone Moon gale. 

What Sylvain notices: Edelgard is beautiful, impossibly so. But perhaps because of her radiance, the shadow next to her is even more jarring. Hubert von Vestra stands with his head held just as high as his lady, his only visible eye scanning the crowd. When that intense gaze lands on Sylvain, it feels like being watched by a snake about to leap up and take a bite.

Sylvain smiles at him, because he is good at smiling in the face of danger. Hubert’s eye narrows imperceptibly. 

Daylight dies behind Hubert slowly, like even the sun knows when to give up in the presence of darkness. Its last rays set Sylvain’s hair on fire. Overhead, two eagles fly past each other and disappear behind the mountainside. The church bell rings almost mournfully. 


	2. the white pawn

When Sylvain was a lot younger, his father taught him how to play chess. It was a lesson veiled as a game. Every Gautier needed to learn how to use the resources available, how to spot the enemies before they even reached the border. They were the ones guarding the rest of the Kingdom from their ferocious, greedy neighbor.

_You have a duty, son_ , his father had said. _And that is to protect your King. We are the first line of defense. You cannot fail. If you did, imagine what would happen to your friends?_

The knight is often among the first pieces deployed on a chess board during the opening of a game, but the more Sylvain understands about the world and his position in it, the more he realizes he is a pawn. A pawn of his family, a pawn of the women chasing after him for a comfortable life, a pawn of Faerghus. Of Fodlan.

He is always going to be the first to go, so might as well live as though today was his last day.

Which is how he finds himself with his hands up a barmaid’s dress behind a tavern, her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, pulling. He leaves her breathless and wanting in that alleyway, her lipstick a sticky residue on his neck; in his head he’s already thinking about how to seduce her prettier sister later in the week. Mapping a route back to the monastery without being seen by any of the knights on patrol is difficult with the wine in his system, but he tries anyway. Wobbling steps take him through another dingy alley that he knows would lead to a hidden entrance to the west of the academy. His vision swims a little, but somehow he manages to walk in a semi-straight line. 

That is, until he spots a cloaked figure ahead. Before he can take in what he is really seeing, there is a choked noise, a gurgling throat. A body falls down with a _thump_ , deathly still. 

Sylvain blinks. Is this a murder scene? Should he flee? His feet refuse to cooperate, rooted to the ground. Wouldn’t it be funny if he wasted all his life studying how to be a knight for Dimitri only to be killed here, in this nameless street, his neck still bruised with a maiden’s love bites? What a pathetic way to die. Fitting, in a way. Sylvain would have laughed himself right into his grave before that assassin even reached him if he wasn’t completely terrified.

The cloaked figure turns to him. The blade in their hand gleams red.

Sylvain runs.

Hubert starts watching him intently during their joint classes after that, which is… rather odd. Sometimes, Sylvain would feel a prickling at the back of his neck that suggests he’s being stared at, but when he turns around, nobody is there.

And then he almost gets flattened by the other man’s miasma at the mock battle, but that’s neither here nor there, is it? They have been fighting each other. It’s normal to want to kill each other a little.

… Okay, perhaps not. Sylvain is on a lot of people’s bad side. Maybe he accidentally got on Hubert’s shit list somehow, but he doesn’t know why and frankly doesn’t care. If Hubert doesn’t deign to at least tell him, he won’t go out of his way to ask. He will live with it just like he has lived with all the attempts of violence on his life since childhood.


	3. the black queen

“Gautier. A word?”

Sylvain looks up from the book he has been trying to read. Hubert cuts a threatening figure among the white of the infirmary. It’s right after dinner, which means Manuela and the rest of the Lions are not here, and Sylvain has just driven a lance through his own brother earlier today, which means he kind of has to be here for the numerous wounds he sustained during battle. The man certainly picked a prime time to talk. Commendable.

“Say your piece. It’s not like I have anywhere else to be,” he jokes and puts the book back down on his lap. The mock battle where their two Houses fought against each other felt like it happened a long time ago, and he doesn’t remember crossing paths much with Hubert at any point since then. He doesn’t know what kind of business the other has with him, unless he accidentally broke the heart of some girl in the Eagles, which is totally plausible.

Instead of voicing whatever he wants to discuss, Hubert glances at Sylvain’s nightstand, where his old, worn chess set still sits after a game with Dimitri. This afternoon Sylvain had asked Felix to bring it here for him out of boredom. It was the first time in a while his childhood friend had not complained about having to do him a favor. Funny how a dead brother brings back memories.

Funny, huh.

Hubert seems content with taking his sweet, sweet time thinking about whatever he has in mind for this absolutely riveting conversation. And then he takes a seat next to Sylvain’s bed. Alright, that is not ominous at all.

“You play?”

_ What? _

“What?” Sylvain utters, puzzled, before remembering the chess set on the nightstand. “Oh, you mean chess? Yeah. A little bit. I’m not great at it or anything.”

“Prove it.”

Hubert has a damnable smirk teetering on thin lips, and Sylvain can recognize a challenge when he sees one. Unfortunately, he is still a Faerghan native, and Faerghans don’t know how to back down from challenges. 

They play.

Sylvain loses catastrophically the first match. While he relies on distractions and trades, Hubert uses his pieces conservatively, his defense untouchable, his attacks relentless once the opportunity presents itself. Sylvain concedes four moves away from a checkmate, earning him a calculating - and strangely approving - stare.

“You know how to pick your battles, I see. And here I thought you’d be as reckless as you are during missions.”

Sylvain shrugs. “Chess, no matter what, is still just a game. The world out there? Not so much when the lives of my friends depend on me. I can trade the pieces on the board all I want but I only have one me to sacrifice on the real battlefield.”

“Wouldn’t the opposite make more sense, in that case?” Hubert immediately counters. “There is ultimately no harm in playing a game of chess till the end, even though it’s considered distasteful to remain stubborn when there’s a clear losing side. But if you want to preserve lives in the real world, it’s better to give up before every single soldier on your side is killed, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I’m not the one who calls the shot in reality,” Sylvain smiles wryly. That’s only part of the reason, of course. He knows Dimitri. He knows Felix. He knows Ingrid. He’s been with them since they were all toddlers. None of them would choose to surrender over a brutal fight to the death. It’s simply not what they were taught to do. And they are everything he has.

Hubert’s unnerving gaze is starting to make Sylvain feel like he is looking straight into his soul, however, so he changes the topic. “What did you want with me, anyway? Surely not for a few games or my excellent company.”

By now, the outcome of the Blue Lions’ trip to Conand Tower must have spread throughout the entire monastery. Sylvain Jose Gautier, murdering his own brother to take back a precious Relic. Rumors about noble Houses love to travel around here, where outside of studies everyone is expected to make connections that will further their future goals - be it marriage or career.

He knows what other people would say. Miklan was stupid for stealing from House Gautier whose heir has a crest. Thank the Goddess that good for nothing Sylvain could still, apparently, be good for something. Oh, he’s still looking for a bride, isn’t he, maybe I’ll be the next Missus if I play my cards right, I’ll make him fall head over heels for me and stop his womanizer habits. 

Nobody cares about the tragedy of it all. Nobody cares about the boy in the bottom of a well, the boy on the mountainside in the middle of a Faerghus winter, the boy in a tower driving a lance through the beast that was once his brother, the thief of his entire childhood.

But anyway, where was he?

“... My original objective has already been achieved.” Hubert picks up a white pawn he took from Sylvain during their match and rolls it between gloved fingers. For a surreal moment, Sylvain feels like he is that pawn, sitting in Hubert’s palm with an uncertain fate. “However, I believe I’ve found something better from our conversation.”

“Are you always this cryptic?” Sylvain snorts, shaking his head. “Do tell me some time this century what in Ailell you meant by that, will you?”

“Ah, but doing so would spoil the fun.”

And there is that infuriating smirk again. Sylvain has half a mind to wipe it off Hubert’s smug face, but he can’t exactly do it with a broken leg and a healing stab wound, no matter how potent Manuela’s and Mercedes’ magic is. 

He supposes he will have to get creative.

“Another game, von Vestra. I’m onto you.” Sylvain resets the board and raises an eyebrow at the pawn in Hubert’s hand, which prompts the man to lay the piece back down, amusement dancing in his lone green eye.

“I’m positively frightened.”

Sylvain did not expect Hubert to stay and entertain him for so long, but he manages to secure a tie by the time Hubert excuses himself. It feels good to play against someone who can keep up and provide a challenge, for once. He doesn’t think of Miklan or anything that would make him want to crawl out of his own skin when he’s busy trying to sabotage Hubert’s strategy.

Huh.

This must be the weirdest evening of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> come scream with me on twitter at @_ruinedsky


End file.
